The Other Extreme
by TycheSong
Summary: Every side in any war has it's fanatics... Prize for JM2010's 200th review of The Lucky Ones!
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer:**All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

******Thank You:** To Quilter for being my cheerleader and holding my hand all the way through this, BSC_AG and Nathaniel Cardeu for betaing, to susanmarier for her superb banner!

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger

**Story Summary:**Every side of any war has it's fanatics...

**Warnings:** This story is rate MA, and is not suitable for children under 18. It is AU, and includes strong language, lemons (graphic sex), mention of violence, mention of non-con, and mention of torture. It does not have a fluffy ending.

* * *

**Story Dedication:** This story is dedicated to JM2010 for her 200th review of The Lucky Ones!**  
**

* * *

**THE OTHER EXTREME  
By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Introduction: **_(In which Hermione Granger is made aware of several things that were unexpected.)**  
**_

Hermione followed Colin Creevy down one of the many halls that made up the dungeons of Hogwarts, not entirely sure where she was. Somewhere near the Hufflepuff side of things, she thought, not Slytherin. Not for the first time that afternoon, she wished she had the Marauder's Map with her, and wondered how she always managed to get herself into these sorts of random excursions. She was only one of _six _Gryffindor Prefects, after all.

Nonetheless, she could hardly say no when Colin had informed her that her presence was _needed_ down in the dungeons. He was wide-eyed and eager as usual, tugging on her hand with alarming urgency.

The tension in the sixth year's demeanor had Hermione on edge and made her think that maybe Voldemort had _finally_ begun to make his move. Since the Dark Wizard's return at the end of her fourth year and the battle at the Ministry during her fifth, things had been surprisingly quiet. She had expected war to break out in the last couple of years; maybe Dumbledore's confrontation with Voldemort had forced the Dark wizard to revaluate his plans. Whatever the case it at least gave Hermione the chance to complete her schooling and get her N.E.W.T.s as she had wanted.

So here she was, wand out, other hand firmly grasped in Colin's, trailing him through the dungeon corridors during her valuable (and all too scarce) study time. He led her to what appeared to be an unassigned staff suite of some kind. Her glance around what would have been a professor's sitting area or office informed her of no pending emergency, merely a gathering of an unlikely assortment of students.

Hermione took a quick inventory of the room's occupants, wondering what they all had in common. There were four Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws, count them _five _Hufflepuffs, and even a Slytherin, all ranging from their second year up. One of the Ravenclaws was Anthony Goldstein. What in the world did Colin need her for when he already _had_ a seventh-year prefect down here?

"Colin! Why did you bring _her_ here?" That was Anthony himself, looking alarmed.

"She's _Harry Potter's _best friend! No one's loyalty to the cause could be more assured, and we could use some legitimacy before we talk to Harry himself," Colin justified, his voice wavering. "Plus, she's an amazing witch; everyone says so. She can probably come up with ideas and plans that we haven't thought of, yet!"

Romilda Vane shook her head. "She also happens to be the Professors' pet, and self-righteous. Bringing her here was a bad idea, Colin."

"I'm telling you, I think she's trustworthy."

"_What_ is going on here?" Hermione was getting impatient. Oddly enough it was Padma who answered, a troubled look in her eyes.

"This is war. A lot of bad things happen in war. The other side, they'll do anything to win. They'll do what's _necessary_. They torture, steal, rape, kill. If our side isn't willing to do what is needed to get the information we need, to put out of commission our opponents, how are we expecting to win?" Her lips pursed. "I don't have to like it and I know it's going to be hard to live with later, but the point is, we'll live. We _have _to win this war."

Everyone was nodding, some, like Colin, enthusiastically. Hermione was aghast. "You've been torturing, raping and _killing_ down here?"

"Not killing," Anthony mollified. "We're not stupid, after all. People would notice if Death Eaters in training started dying."

"But raping and torture?" How had a terrorist cell in Harry's name started right under all their noses? At least half the people in the room were members of the DA. Surely Dumbledore had no idea!

"We're doing what needs to be done. We _Obliviate_ most of them afterwards, it's not as if they remember."

"The thing is, we need your help," Colin cut in. "This one we got in there now…"

"He's not responding to our usual methods of persuasion." That was Romilda Vane, looking slightly disgruntled. "He's difficult."

"You're the smartest witch in the school. You can crack him."

"You want _me_ to torture someone?"

"Not _torture._" Tamsin Applebee shifted uncomfortably. "Interrogate."

"Oh call a spade a spade, Tam." Padma again.

How in the _world _was she to get out of this mess? She was surrounded by a total of twelve crazy people who were not shy to torture, rape, and _Obliviate_ as needed. She needed to get out intact and bring Dumbledore down here to save whichever student it was, locked up in the other room.

Or maybe she could convince them that she had interrogated and _Oblivated_ him while in there, and after twenty minutes or so of waiting she could just walk him out and report to the headmaster, later. Hermione hesitated, undecided. Then, seeing no better plan, "Let me see him."

"You see, I _told_ you she was trustworthy."

Padma's eyes narrowed fractionally, but she proceeded to other door of the suite, and opened it with a small gesture for Hermione to enter. Hermione stepped through and firmly shut the door behind her. She immediately set about warding it tightly against sound and intrusion, drawing the necessary runes as quickly as she dared. She hardly needed to have bothered. The entire room was heavily warded similarly. Merlin only knew what these idiots had been doing in here.

"Who's there? You fucking _arseholes_, I'm going to make you wish you weren't born! I'm not telling you a damn thing, and you are going feel the pain from this when you're a hundred!" The boy, tied up and blindfolded in the chair, was beaten and bruised. He'd clearly been stunned and hexed a number of times, and he had a _massive_ erection straining the front of his trousers. One of several empty bottles near the sink was more than enough explanation. They had dosed him with, among other things, a potent lust potion.

Hermione took a deep breath. Of course. Of course it would have to be _him. _Her day was not so lucky that it couldn't have been _anyone_ else.

"I'm telling you, I'm going to rip your fucking guts out!" Malfoy shouted at her again and Hermione dropped into the chair across from him with a frustrated groan.

Malfoy went still at the noise, cocking his head slightly to the left. Then, oddly, he took a deep breath through his nose. He paused, his brows furrowing above his blindfold, and then did it again. Then, to Hermione's shock, he said, uncertain hope wavering in his voice, _"Freyja?"_

_Oh. Oh, no. Oh Merlin, no. It was _him_. All this time, Ifreet was _Him.

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_A/N: So this story took way longer for me to write than it should have. It started out as a vague idea following a vaguer prompt from my good friend Kate, and then didn't come to be fleshed out in my head until JM2010 handed me my 200th reveiw for The Lucky Ones on FFN. At this point I finally sat down to actually consider my plot bunny more fully, and something rather darkly wonderful spawned in my head. Here at last is _The Other Extreme_. I hope you enjoy it._


	2. Part I: The Samhain Masquerade

**Disclaimer:**All recognizable characters and fictional places do not belong to me; I am merely borrowing them for playtime before (respectfully) putting them back. Thank you JKR, for allowing such things to happen.

******Thank You:** To Quilter for being my cheerleader and holding my hand all the way through this, BSC_AG and Nathaniel Cardeu for betaing, to susanmarier for her superb banner!

**Pairings/Main Characters:** Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger

**Story Summary: **Every side of any war has it's fanatics...

**Warnings:** This story is rate MA, and is not suitable for children under 18. It is AU, and includes strong language, lemons (graphic sex), mention of violence, mention of non-con, and mention of torture. It does not have a fluffy ending.

* * *

**Story Dedication:** This story is dedicated to JM2010 for her 200th review of The Lucky Ones!**  
**

* * *

**THE OTHER EXTREME  
By: TycheSong**

* * *

**Part I: The Samhain Masquerade:** _(In which we rewind to the previous October, when Hermione was coereced into attending a couple of parties)**  
**_

It had all started early in the year, when Lavender Brown's birthday happened to fall on the same Saturday that the Slytherins hosted a Samhain Masquerade. Hermione was in her usual comfortable chair in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, deeply and satisfactorily immersed in a book: _Practical_ _Applications for the Tarquin Theory Enthusiast._

Most of the Gryffindor boys had been scared away into their dorms by the party of several of Lavender's closest girlfriends that had gathered near the fire. They had been giggling obnoxiously, playing some sort of idiotic and slightly lewd card game that seemed a cross between Truth or Dare and Would You Rather.

Hermione had been invited of course; she rather thought Lavender couldn't see a way _not_ to without being rude to her roommate, even as Hermione had found it impossible to decline for the same reason. The compromise they had silently struck was that Hermione would attend, bring a book, and they would both leave each other alone as much as possible.

Therefore, Hermione was both surprised and a little chagrined when Ashley Blair, a Hufflepuff a year behind them called out to her naïvely, "Hermione! Are you _sure _you don't want to play?"

"Oh, don't bother. 'Mione never does anything interesting for the sake of _fun_. If it weren't for all that stuff with Harry, I'd wonder how she got sorted in." The offhand and slightly cruel remark was Parvati's who, as usual, wasn't paying attention to where her mouth was running. Several embarrassed but titillated looks passed between the girls as they waited for Hermione to respond to that.

Well. Hermione could hardly let something like that pass, could she? Particularly over a stupid game. So far, all the questions and dares had seemed relatively silly and tame. Hermione rolled her eyes and stuck a finger into her book in lieu of a bookmark_. _"Very well, then." She waved her free hand belligerently. "Read me my card, then, if for no other reason than to prove my mane." It was an old Gryffindor phrase, meaning to show one's bravery.

A small cheer of pleased surprise for her decision rose, then dissolved into cackling and giggling as Lavender, indisputably the Queen Bee of her party, pompously drew a card with dramatic ceremony. She flipped it up, and her eyes widened in surprise as she read the contents.

"Truth or Dare, Hermione?" Romilda Vane asked. She looked at Lavender. "Lav, _truth or dare? _You're supposed to ask. C'mon, it can't be _that _scandalous. This is _Hermione_, after all."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. A small rock of concern had formed in her stomach.

"The cards," Padma explained. "Each one is charmed, so that whoever is _it,_ their card has a choice. One truth you have to tell or one dare you have to do. You have to choose before you hear the options. If you don't follow through afterward, you get a rather massive headache until you do."

"Of course," Ashley picked up the explanation, "the cards are _also _charmed so that your options, no matter what you choose, are something that you find especially embarrassing or titillating. Not _really_ bad…just enough so that it can be..._uncomfortable_ to follow through."

Lavender seemed to find her voice at that point and stared up at Hermione, her eyes just a little bit wider than what made Hermione comfortable. "Truth," she asked, "or Dare?"

What was _on _that card? If she picked dare, she could end up running through the halls naked, or snogging one of the girls in front of her, or—her heart lurched—forced to turn in incomplete homework to Professor Snape. On the other hand, truth had its pitfalls lurking, too. Hermione had no desire to announce to the room at large—including his girlfriend whose party this was—that she fancied Ron. Or own up to the possibility that she was very much afraid that he was right, and that she _was_ frigid. She'd honestly rather run through the halls naked. And then get caught doing it. _By _Professor Snape.

"Dare." She said it firmly, almost daring the card in return to do its worst.

"You are thus compelled to gate-crash the Slytherin party."

"_Gate-crash the—" _Hermione said incredulously. "How? It's invitation only, and I don't have anything to wear."

"You can have mine." Padma spoke up, and then shrugged when the other girls looked to her. "All the Ravenclaw girls fifth year and up were invited. I wasn't going to miss Lav's party, though."

"I've got some Beltane Glamour Costume potion left over from last year," Amanda put in. "My mum sent me extra in case I changed my mind last minute."

"It's not going to be enough to disguise that hair."

"Oh, please. Like Granger's the only one with impossible hair. I'll get the Sleekeazy." Romilda tossed her own full head of thick, but well-manicured curls and was gone up the stairs in a flash.

And just like that, the party switched from the ridiculous card game to the very real nightmare of _Makeover Hermione Granger. _

"We'll have to do the glamour potion first," said Lavender, studying Hermione like a new project. Otherwise, we'll have no idea what it'll _do_ to her. Don't want the chemicals in the potion reacting to chemicals on _her_. Katie Bell did it backward once and her lips were stained green for three weeks."

"Here." Someone handed the potion to Lavender, who uncorked it, took a sniff, and wrinkled her nose.

"I always forget how weird this stuff smells." She handed it to Hermione. "Now, you're supposed to think of what costume you want to be, tap it with your wand and say whatever your costume is. Then drink it down."

Hermione stared at the bottle with trepidation, not certain she trusted it.

"She should be a nymph!" Ashley volunteered.

"_So_ overdone." Lavender shook her head.

"How 'bout a goddess, then?" Parvati.

"Oooooh, I like that. She could be Aphrodite." Romilda.

"Diana!" Ashley.

"Personally, I like the idea of Bastet, the Lady of Flame. She was an ancient Egyptian cat-goddess." Padma.

There was a general nodding of agreement and a small squeal of delight from Parvati.

Hermione put her foot down. No _way_ was she going to drink a potion she knew nothing about in the attempt to transform into a cat-goddess. It was just too close to the possibility of history repeating itself. "No."

Lavender pouted.

"No. How about this: I'll be Frejya. No one would ever guess." And didn't Frejya wear furs?

There was a small nod from Lavender. "That's true. No one would suspect a Gryffindor to gatecrash as a _Nordic_ goddess."

Hermione frowned at the potion and sighed. The sooner begun, the sooner done with. _"Frejya." _She tapped the murky liquid with the tip of her wand. Her head was starting to ache, although whether it was because of the circumstances or the card game, she couldn't be sure. Before she could think better of it, she downed the drink.

A chill skittered down her spine, like an involuntary shudder. She felt suddenly taller, more statuesque. She had _breasts. _Not her usual little B cups, but a firm and full C. Possibly even a D. Her hair was blond. How odd! It looked and felt wrong to her. She held up Lavender's hand mirror and studied the effect. Her hair was the same, a wild curly mess, but now it was a spun honey gold, with strands of platinum and wheat threading through it. It did not look _bad_—it was even attractive in a disconcerting way—but it did not look like _her,_ even with her face. She didn't really like it, she decided.

"Ooooh, Hermione! Look at your hair! You're beautiful! Have you always had those twins hiding under your robes?" Parvarti stared at Hermione's chest with interest. If Hermione had ever felt the slightest twinge of regret concerning her lack of endowment, she was now certain that she never would again. They were so...noticeable, prominently offered up by the _very _low cut and ribbed bodice. She had to stifle the urge to tug on the neckline. Everyone kept _staring, _and they were heavier than she was accustomed to. Logically, she knew they could not really weigh that much more than her _real _breasts, but the feeling was so _different_.

Her clothing was fanciful, made of frothy silver and white chiffon, trimmed in far too little snow-white fur and ending far too high on her thighs. Little sparkling silver lines that reminded Hermione so much of tinsel now wove through her hair and shimmered in complement to a fine misting of glitter that winked on her skin.

And her mask...oh her mask! It was the crowning touch. It was an elegant, lovely white silk eye mask, with crystalline beads and two large clusters of silk flowers, leaves, and feathers. They framed the mask in such a way that they would cradle her face, obscuring the contours of her cheekbones. It was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She rather hoped that when this whole idiotic affair was over the mask would stay so she might keep it. Still, gorgeous mask aside...

"This doesn't look even slightly ancient Nordic."

Lavender and most of her entourage rolled their eyes as if Hermione had said something horribly naïve and childish. "It's a _costume_, Hermione. The whole point of _costume _parties is to get to dress up and be sexy without being socially unacceptable. What did you _think _was going to happen?"

"I thought there would be a _bit_ more to it."

"Honestly, Hermione, she's a _fertility _goddess anyway. Stop whining. You might even actually have fun if you let yourself go a little." Parvarti was on a roll tonight, it seemed. Merlin, her head was going to explode, and her eyeballs felt like they were about to bleed. Any minute now, and her mask would be ruined. This was the most idiotic, ridiculous game anyone had ever invented _ever. _This was supposed to be _fun?_

Padma handed her charmed invitation to Hermione. "Go." She said firmly. "I've been to the Slytherin parties before, and honestly, you really might have fun."

Therefore, approximately twenty minutes later, Hermione handed her invitation to a largish door attendant with an elaborate wolf mask that she strongly suspected was Gregory Goyle. He glanced at it a moment, checking to see that the charms marking it as authentic were in place and un-tampered with, took a second look at her décolletage with a leer, and waved her on with an approving nod.

She crossed the threshold, and immediately her headache alleviated substantially. It wasn't gone, but definitely diminished. Honestly, what an awful game. If this is all it took, though...

Hermione stepped back toward the entrance, ready to leave now that she had fulfilled the conditions of the game play. Her head immediately started pounding again. _Damn!_ How long would she have to stay?

Feeling conspicuous, and desperately wanting to tug her neckline _up_ and her hemline _down_, Hermione glanced around herself, searching for something to do that wouldn't make her stick out like such a sore thumb. Music pulsed and everyone attending seemed to be in high spirits, laughing and dancing. Slytherin House had apparently drafted their fourth years to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvres, all of them dressed alike in matching Japanese _oni _costumes. They wove about amongst low couches and hovered on the edge of the space that had been cleared for dancing. One passed in front of her and, without even thinking about it, she snagged a glass.

Spying an open seat in a relatively out-of-the-way corner, Hermione headed toward it. If she was lucky she could hang out in relative peace for an hour or so and leave, headache free, without anything more required of her. Sitting, she eyed her newly gained drink with some small trepidation. It was a pale lavender colour, and appeared to be smoking.

Hermione discreetly tried to study it. There were no spirals in the smoke, no scent of ashwinder or roses. A faint alcohol smell, but nothing that directly pointed to either a lust potion or sleeping potion. Still, one couldn't be too careful at a party, especially one where everyone was in costume and hosted in the Slytherin dorms.

"It's clean." Her musings were interrupted by the approaching figure of an Arabic demon of some sort. Hermione glanced up from the smoking concoction in her hand just in time to catch the wry twist of his decidedly sensual mouth.

"The drink." He clarified. "I promise, just a basic alcoholic beverage charmed to be a bit spookier." He wriggled his fingers at her like a clichéd haunting. "It's nothing dangerous."

Hermione nodded, silently, but still did not take a sip.

"Oh come on, it isn't going to bite you!" The man smirked behind his mask and held out his hand. "Here, give it. I'll drink first," he said, exasperated.

"Don't mind if you do." She handed him the glass and watched as he took a healthy swallow.

His lips tightened in a minute grimace and he made a smacking sound with his tongue that denoted he did not care for the taste. "Founders, this stuff is _shite. _It's like they just poured flavouring and sugar into vodka." He handed it back.

Hermione took a small sip. It _was _sweet, and _delicious. _Hermione smiled then, for the first time that evening, and took another, larger sip.

Her new companion studied her, apparently bemused. "You know, I don't think I know who you are."

Hermione laughed and deliberately misunderstood. "Allegedly, I'm Freyja."

He nodded, then gave her a deliberate once over. "Well, Freyja, you don't look remotely ancient Nordic."

"That's what _I _said." She grinned at him. "Though I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to insult my costume if your aim is polite conversation."

"Oh, I have the _greatest _appreciation for your costume, Freyja." His eyes lingered on her unnaturally lush bosom. "Though, to be fair, this is my corner. By coming here, _you_ approached _me_."

"Your corner, is it?"

"For the last hour or so. Went to get a drink." He lifted his tumbler in silent salute and settled easily onto the couch next to her. He rolled his head in an exaggerated tilt. "I'm hiding."

"Hiding?"

"Don't pretend you don't understand. You're hiding, too, or you wouldn't be in this corner. You'd be out there," he waved an indifferent hand, "enjoying the other gentlemen trying to stick their faces down your bodice."

Hermione couldn't help it, she laughed. "Something altogether different from what you're doing?"

"I was willing to be possibly drugged in your place; getting to appreciate what you are so aptly displaying is part of my reward."

"At least I have a bodice." She replied loftily.

He glanced down at his bare, bronzed chest, costumed only with painted Arabic runes and glyphs, and shrugged. "I like the trousers."

Hermione glanced down again and stifled a giggle. They were voluminous and red, and looked straight out of _One Thousand and One Nights_. A wide black sash topped the pants, a gaudily bejeweled dagger stuck through it. A wicked looking red devil's mask completed the costume.

Even behind her bejewelled mask he must have seen her amusement, because he gave her a cross look. "What? They're roomy. While of course I look positively thrilling in tight leather trousers—"

"Of course," she murmured.

"You'd faint with lust," he retorted, "they can be highly uncomfortable to a man so blessed in the loins as I." He finished arrogantly.

"Perhaps I'm just surprised to see a Slytherin in red?"

The man went still for a moment, and then set his drink down with a muttered curse. "What gave me away?"

"I wasn't positive until now, but you assured me that the drinks weren't tampered with and you said that I was in your spot with more authority then someone who simply has claimed it at a party for an hour. Since Slytherin is hosting tonight..."

He huffed. "I was hoping to fool everyone. It's especially annoying because I don't know who _you _are."

Hermione laughed, enjoying his company despite herself. "If it's any consolation, I don't know _which _Slytherin you are. Isn't that the point of a Samhain Masquerade party, to have everyone's identity hidden?"

"The point is to try to guess who is who while you're here. I'm usually very good at it," he responded. He studied her a moment. "You're not a Slytherin."

Hermione felt her skin prickle a little in nervousness. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you _didn't _know the drinks were safe, and you wondered. The Slytherin girls were in charge of the drinks tonight, as evidenced by their deplorable taste."

"I think it's yummy!" Hermione defended the smoking purple liquid. "Alright then, what am I?"

"A girl with fantastic breasts." He saluted her chest with his tumbler.

"You do realize that they might be a part of the costume?"

"So? Temporary or not, they're here, and I am enjoying them."

"What on earth makes you feel that I am okay with that?"

"You wouldn't have worn that skimpy, strategically furred, little bit of fluff if you weren't."

"What if I didn't choose my costume?"

"Then I suppose there is someone _else_ I should thank."

"You really have _no _idea who I am?"

"Stop rubbing it in," he responded grumpily.

"For all you know I could be dumpy, squinty-eyed, and a complete slag, Mr…?" She trailed off.

"Hah. That was a pathetic try, Frejya. I am an ifreet and you shall call me such," he responded airily. "And none of the unaccounted for girls of the appropriate age to be at this party are really _that _hideous."

"I could be Bulstrode or Midgen. _Or_," she said dramatically, _"Granger!"_ Her conscious twinged at naming the two unattractive women, but she wasn't supposed to be herself, and she rather wanted to make him splutter a bit. She was doomed to disappointment, however.

"We already established that you're not a Slytherin," he answered, practically. "Midgen's over on the far side of the room, dressed as a fairy. And you're _not_ Granger. Only three Gryffindor girls were invited and the only one who accepted is an obvious pick-out. No offence, but I'm not convinced you're clever enough to be Granger, either. Every word out of her mouth is annoyingly swotty."

Hermione wasn't sure if she should be amused or offended by that. She arched a brow at him, and he quickly continued, tilting his chin down as if punctuating his point.

"Plus, Granger would never come to one of these. Not only is it in Slytherin territory, she's too bloody sensible. She certainly would never wear _that. _Though I must confess, I wouldn't be _upset_ if she did."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "I cannot believe that you, a _Slytherin_, just said that about Granger."

"What? I can't appreciate a nice pair of legs and cute arse? She's good at hiding it, but Granger's got one of the best arses in our year."

Hermione pursed her lips, trying not to gape. Thankfully, he misunderstood.

"Oh, stop pouting. If you want to turn about and show me, I'll be sure to compliment your arse, too."

"No, thank you," she responded. "You do realise you've given away that you're a seventh year? You said 'our' year, not 'her' year."

He lolled his head to the side a bit and grinned. She got the distinct impression that he had meant to let that slip. Just then, a high, tinkling bell rang out. Ifreet rolled his eyes and beckoned her closer with two fingers as if to be heard over the sound. However, when Hermione leaned in, instead of saying something, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and administered a warm kiss to her mouth.

It was a chaste kiss, barely more than a firm press of his lips against hers, but it sparked something inside her. It arced from her to him like chain lightening and back again, setting her nerve endings on edge and heating her skin. Her stomach tightened and she felt _something _stir, something beyond just hormones. He broke the kiss and stared at her, surprised.

"Well…ah…that was unexpected," he finally said.

Hermione arched her brows at him, the visual no doubt lost behind her mask. "I'll say. Do you always randomly kiss girls mid-conversation?"

He chuckled, slightly bemused. "The bells rang, Freyja. Who are we to ignore tradition?"

She shook her head, not understanding.

"It's a game," he explained. "It's played every year at the Slytherin Samhain party. It goes back…oh…few hundred years or something. When the bells are rung, the tradition is that you kiss the nearest person for luck. Everyone's in costume, so there's no worries about who it is or what their alliance is. You really didn't know?"

Hermione shook her head. "I missed last year's party."

He studied her carefully a moment, then responded, "I didn't realize you weren't aware. _I_ was surprised because of the…reaction. You can't tell me you didn't feel that."

Hermione took a deep breath and tipped her head in acquiescence. "I felt it. What…what _was_ that, precisely? It didn't feel normal."

He snorted softly, and shook his own head. "It's _not._ At least, not that I know of—I've never had it happen before and I've never heard of it happening to anyone else first hand. Honestly, I thought it was an urban myth made up by girls. Our magic _reacted_ towards each other."

"Reacted?"

"Yes. Usually your magical side, it doesn't give a fuck who you fuck, right? But story goes that some people are," he paused, a slight flush tingeing his cheeks. "Some people are more. They're made for each other. So compatible that even their magic reaches out for them."

Hermione was sceptical. "Made for each other?"

Ifreet shrugged uneasily. "It's just what I've been told. I've never actually _believed_ it before." He eyed her warily and, she thought, a little hungrily. "Dance with me."

"What?"

"Come on, just a little one. I want to know what you feel like in my arms." He gave her a wicked look. "If just a little kiss was _that _incredible, imagine what it would feel like, pressed close, the music pulsing with your blood…it's gotten less obnoxious out there—listen."

He was right, the music had slowed right down and the lights illuminating the floor were dimmed so far, it was barely possible to make the couples out. The thought of this man…this _Slytherin_, holding her like that in the dark was strangely intoxicating. His dusky bare skin flush against the thin chiffon and fluff that was her costume, that odd reaction arcing through them…

Hermione shuddered slightly, feeling her breasts come to hard points. Apparently, their fake increase in size didn't diminish their sensitivity at all. Hesitantly Hermione stood and took Ifreet's hand, allowing him to lead her out to where the other couples had slowed, swaying back and forth more than dancing. His hand was warm and his touch shot little tingles of sensation through her.

He pulled her gently into his arms and she could not help but let out a low breath of surprised pleasure as the soft tingling sensations seemed to ripple down their line of contact. Skin brushed skin and she found herself hyper-aware of an almost static sensation leaping between them, sparking along her skin without actually shocking her. The undeniable urge to press closer, to feel it ignite, was disconcerting and thrilling.

Her partner let out a soft growl. "It's amazing, isn't it? Our auras sparking like that. Fuck." He tightened his arm around her, pressing her tightly against him. Neither of their flimsy costumes did anything to hide the hard bulge pressed against her stomach. His hips hitched slightly, rubbing his erection between them, and she felt her insides liquefy.

Every nerve ending seemed to stand on end and her breath came out in harsh little pants; she had _no _idea who this was and she was a hairsbreadth away from not caring. Perhaps the drink had been spiked after all? She had _never _felt this sort of primal, animalistic need to just rut before. Is _this _what Ron and Lavender felt when they were constantly sucking each other's faces in the hallways? The thought struck her and she found her eyes locked on her partner's mouth. It was perfect, she thought errantly. He had full, sensuous lips without looking puffy or like they were the sort that would try to swallow half her face. They curved just a little, his smile an understated twist.

_They might not be real. _She had to struggle to remind herself. _He's in costume, same as I, and everything I see about him might not be real._ Certainly that dusky skin of his wasn't real. None of the seventh year Slytherins were that particular shade of rich brown. Zabini was much darker, and the next closest, Rosier, could best be described as merely tan.

She let her eyes drop to the rune-painted skin and felt her breathing stutter again. What she could see of his chest was firm and well defined; the muscles taut under his skin. A small bead of sweat was running down his throat—she had the sudden urge to lick it, to taste him.

A guttural growl interrupted her thoughts and suddenly those same lips that had been driving her crazy a moment before were on hers. He kissed her firmly, hungrily, greedily prying apart her lips with his tongue and stroking it along hers. Time seemed to melt away into the darkness, taking the other couples and the music with it. For long moments, nothing seemed to register to Hermione but his mouth on hers, his heat pressed into her, his hands stroking along her skin.

The wall registered, briefly, when it was firm against her back. Dimly she was aware that, at some point, they had left the small dance floor and had manoeuvred into a shadowed corner. It was impossible to say how long it had been, however, because the only thing she could concentrate on was his hands—those marvellous, marvellous hands. They were curling under the short hem of her dress, cupping her arse and pressing her tight against him, and—oh heaven—his mouth had found its way inside her bodice and was teasing her left nipple.

She was jerked back into reality when one of the points on his cumbersome mask scraped across her the throat. She pushed at him, brought to awareness from the discomfort, and he slowly glanced up at her, his eyes a bit hazy behind his mask.

"Your mask…" She whispered.

"I'll take it off. Take yours off. I want to see you."

It was like a cold bucket of water. "No!" Hermione's hands dropped from him, flying to the edges of her beautiful mask in panic. "It's a masquerade. We're supposed to be able to stay anonymous."

He laughed, a little incredulously. "But not us, not when it's _this_. Frejya—we're beyond that sort of silly game. You can feel it, same as I. We are destined for each other—our magic is binding us even as we speak!"

Hermione shook her head again, a bit frantically. "Destined" or not, she was still a Muggle-born, something she had never heard any Slytherin speak of with approval, and she was still a gatecrasher at a party hosted by said Slytherins.

His mouth turned down in upset. "What is it? Do you have a boyfriend? Break up with him. I would happily toss over any girl for you." His voice sounded a bit insecure, she thought.

Hermione swallowed and answered, "No. No, I don't have a boyfriend. I just…don't want to ruin the magic just yet."

The perfect, sensuous lips lifted again into a small smile. "The magic won't be ruined. Really. This is only the beginning, I swear it!" He ran a finger down one of her pale curls, seemingly fascinated by the way it wound around it and then sprung back when it was released. He grinned at her. "If it pleases you, we'll keep them on until the traditional unmasking at one, and in the meantime, Freya, I'm going to do everything in my power to convince you that you're mine. And then I'm going to make sure everyone else knows it, too."

Hermione felt a warm glow expand in her stomach; it was flattering and wonderful to meet someone who genuinely _wanted_ her. Then the full import of what he had said sank in. They were to be unmasked! She would be caught completely as herself in the centre of the Slytherin common room. Her heart gave a small flutter of apprehensiveness.

Trying to hide it, she lifted her chin a bit, and tried to change the subject; surely at some point before the unmasking she would be able to slip away and get out before he realised she was gone. "Why is the unmasking at one o'clock? And the Yule ball, a few years ago. Why do parties always end at one? You'd think it would be at midnight, or even earlier, since we're still in school."

Ifreet gave her an amused look. "_Someone_ wasn't paying attention to their tutor growing up." He teased, driving home the point that he believed her to be from a magical family. "Or, it appears, even your Arithmancy class."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I did too! I love Arithmancy."

"Stop pouting, it makes your mouth just beg for another kissing. You were clearly asleep at least one day. The unnumbered hour is the most potently magical hour of the day. That's why so many rituals take place during the midnight hour."

"The Witching Hour, yes, I know."

"So it makes sense that our gatherings continue through that hour and end afterward, doesn't it?"

"That's it? The school rule is really based on the fact that it's just traditional? All because that particular hour is a potent time to complete rituals?"

Ifreet actually laughed aloud at this, drawing the attention of several nearby. "Well, yes, of course. What _else_ would we base it on? Our whole _world_ centres around traditions rooted in magic. Our gatherings as magic wielders were centred on purposeful rituals back in the dark ages. It only makes sense that it carries on as tradition today."

"Like how we come of age at seventeen instead of eighteen." Hermione answered, nodding thoughtfully.

"Right. Seventeen is when we come to our full adult magical strength. It only makes sense." He gave her a shrewd look. "You're a half-blood, aren't you? You didn't _have _a magical tutor growing up."

Hermione tilted her chin at him. "What if I am? Not everyone in this room or even your house can possibly be pure-bloods." His lips quirked in another smile and he leaned in closer to her. Their auras sparked again and she shivered, pressing in more firmly against him.

"I'll tell you a secret, Freyja-mine. I _honestly_ don't really care." He drew back and said seriously, "I'm supposed to and I make an excellent show of it in public. War is just over the horizon and at this point, I'm not convinced that the Dark Lord isn't going to win. I have to be very careful with what I say and do." His arm came up around her waist, holding her against him almost as if he was seeking comfort. Seemingly unconscious of the action, he continued, "One wrong step and my own housemates would turn me over to prove their own loyalty. It's something of a witch hunt—if you'll pardon the expression—inside our House."

Hermione glanced at him. Because of her altered height she was nearly eye-level with him. Absently, she wondered if he had altered his height as well, or if he was really several centimetres taller than she was out of costume. She rather liked being of height with him; it felt like they fit. It also had the added benefit of putting his mouth within centimetres of hers.

"I'm sorry it's that way for you," she whispered against him. "Do…do you want him to win?"

His head tilted back toward her, his mask knocking against hers again. "I…I feel like I'll be struck dead for saying it, but...I don't know. I'm rather caught up in it all, you see. If he doesn't, the aftermath will destroy my family—me. If he does...well, I don't think I would much like the world if he does." He shrugged helplessly.

They stared at each other a moment, both ignoring the bells when they tinkled through the air again. Hermione took a shaky breath. "If he wins…I probably won't survive it."

"I'll protect you, you know," he promised earnestly, "if he does. I'll be in a position to be able to do that, and I won't let anyone hurt you. I swear it." He pressed a belated, light kiss against her mouth again, and they both sighed a little.

Hermione smiled shyly back up at him. "Maybe I'll protect _you_ if he doesn't. It isn't too late, you know. You don't _have _to follow him. I bet Dumbledore would protect you and your family if you told him you needed help."

Ifreet shook his head firmly. "My father would never do that and it _is_ too late for some of us. Nothing to do at this point but try to ride it out on the side I've landed on. I'm not the sort to martyr himself for the greater good, I'm afraid." He peered at her from the side of his mask's eyeholes, looking uncertain again. "Do you hate me for that?"

Hermione tried to smile and said, "I suppose it's only natural. I would be lying if I said that I agreed that helping him is the answer; I would never say that…but I can't really blame you for being afraid for your family."

The clock bonged behind them, causing both to jump in surprise. It was midnight. Ifreet took the opportunity to change the subject and gave her a heated look. "That's enough of _that_ depressing shite for tonight, I think. One more hour and the masks come off, and then I'm going to have you properly and _never _let you go."

Hermione smiled weakly. It was time to leave, before things got even further out of control. She would always be able to track him down later, when people who hated her didn't surround them. Their reaction to each other would make him unmistakable. She would just need to come up with a reasonable excuse to touch all of the Slytherin seventh year boys. She huffed with laughter under her breath—like _that _would be easy.

"In the meantime," she teased, "why don't you go get me another drink while you're still capable of letting me go."

His lips dropped another lingering kiss on hers for an aching moment; Hermione had to remind herself not to tug him closer again and continue. "Stay _right _here." He grinned at her, his teeth flashed, and he disappeared back through the crowd of once again wildly gyrating dancers.

Hermione sighed, hesitated, and then made for the door.

"Leaving early?" Wolf-Mask grunted at her questioningly.

Hermione shrugged. "I'll be back. Just need some air."

Wolf-Mask nodded and waved a hand, stepping out of her way. "Don't matter if you've got an invite. I'll remember you." He leered at her bodice again.

Hermione nodded awkwardly, trying not to visibly let on how creepy she found Goyle, and disappeared down the hall.

* * *

_A/N: ...and now you know why she's in such a pickle present day. Please review and let me know what you think so far. :-)_


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